


Life of the Party

by Miss_Murdered



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst, M/M, OZ won AU, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 10:15:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11781054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Murdered/pseuds/Miss_Murdered
Summary: Zechs is always the life of the party among the Sanc elite as he represents the acceptable face of OZ. Yet he hides a secret, as he always has.





	Life of the Party

_Somewhere in between who I used to be_  
_And who I’ll be tomorrow when the champagne blows my mind_  
 _Thrills don’t come for free, the price you pay for dreams_  
 _In a sea of strangers, I can’t find me anymore, anymore_  
 _I can’t find me anymore_

_Life of the Party – All Time Low_

 

* * *

 

**  
Life of the Party**

It was another night where Zechs had to pretend. Another night when Zechs had to be charming and confident – the life and soul of the party. He did it on the request of Treize – attended every gala and charity event and museum opening as required – drinking champagne and rubbing shoulders with the rich and influential. He was the most well-known of the OZ elite and the least offensive of them, his royal linage making him seem more acceptable than the military men or Une. 

Zechs was polished, polite and reverent to the right people. His sense of humour was enjoyed by all – his mind quick witted and his tongue sharp and he was well known as the most entertaining guest to invite to any important occasion. In fact, in the upper echelons of Sanc society, it was almost a faux pas not to invite Zechs Merquise. So it meant he had been invited to another fundraiser, a small charity event to raise money for the rebuild of an old church in New Port City that had suffered damage during a terrorist attack. A recent terrorist attack. Zechs had scoffed at the wording. It wasn’t a “terrorist” attack. It had been a protest that had gone awry that had been put down like they always were. With mobile suits and guns.

When Zechs received the invite, he visited Treize in his study in the grand estate that had become his base of operations in the Sanc Kingdom, the elaborate room glistening in gold leaf to contrast against the dark heavy wood.

“Hmm,” Treize had said, his eyes looking the heavy card stock and the black cursive script. “I assume the usual are attending?”

Zechs nodded as he took a seat, his pose casual, and his body relaxing into the blood red leather of the chair. “The same Sanc elite,” Zechs had said with the requisite sneer.

Or at least it was the elite as they were now since Relena made her escape to the colonies. He often wondered about his dear sister, if she hated him for seeming to side with the enemy but he tried not to think about that or dwell in his regrets. Or think about Noin's expression. They only made him feel more of a villain than he really was.  

“Go,” Treize said as he walked over to Zechs to hand back the invite. As he approached he reached for a strand of Zechs hair, pushing it aside in a show of intimacy that had long since passed. “I want you to show how charitable we can be.”

So he attended, his suit freshly pressed and his hair tied back in a loose ponytail, white gloves covering his blood stained hands as he mingled and tried to maintain support for OZ’s more extreme policies.

Everyone knew him as Treize’s right hand – the man who was at the ear of the most influential and important man in the Earth Sphere. Yet they didn’t know his secret. They didn’t know he was part of the rebellion, the uprisings, those ragtag bunches of fighters left over from the Alliance and White Fang or the Gundam pilots attempted resistance to colonial rule. They didn’t know nor did Treize that Zechs was wearing a mask as he had always done. It was just now metaphorical rather than literal.

Zechs hadn’t intended to be in the position he was. He hadn’t intended to be playing the dual role of spy and loyal follower. Yet he had been forced into his current position by _them._ Or more specially him.

No, Zechs thought, forced was the wrong word and unfair. As he had not been forced. He had been persuaded. And he had been easy to persuade.

He hadn’t intended to survive the war. He was a soldier, a born military man and to die in battle was what he desired. Especially when he had killed so many. Especially when he had attempted such horrible things. He shivered sometimes when he thought of his crazy ideas of destroying half of the planet. He was half mad then. Desperate. He hadn’t expected Treize to triumph in the end. To return to his old friend’s side begging for _something…_ It was a something that Treize couldn’t give him. Zechs wanted forgiveness, absolution of sins and Treize only wanted to revel in his victory and glory. It made him sick. It drew him to the Gundam pilots – those who perhaps he could understand and they him. Those who Zechs respected for their fierceness, their resilience and their ability to get up and start fighting again despite all they had lost.

Zechs had wanted to join them. He had wanted to leave Sanc and fight and die in a battle that was worth fighting. Yet they hadn’t let him. It would never be so easy for him. It never would be. He would always have to live in the grey between the black and white, pretending and hiding and sneaking.

“We want you to stay close to Treize and the high ranking officials in OZ and the government. We want you to send us intelligence.”

It had been Yuy who explained – or rather ordered. There had been little expression on his face, his face hidden by the dark fall of hair that seemed even longer than its war time length. He looked older, battle weary, his skin covered in scars that seemed more obvious in the darkness. Zechs had tried to protest.

“I’m an excellent mobile suit pilot and a crack shot. I am more useful to you on the ground.”

And that was when _he_ spoke. “Yeah, well we don’t have many mobile suits or guns so that ain’t much use to us. But intel on what your buddy boy and his cronies are planning is very useful, Zechsy.”

Zechs had looked then at Duo Maxwell, stared him down yet the former Deathscythe pilot didn’t shrink away. He noted the clothes, black, and how most of his skin was covered and how his hair trailed down like a rope. He noticed the smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes. Or how he looked exhausted. They all did. The dingy disused office block did not provide the best lighting yet Zechs didn’t see those fresh faced fifteen year old boys anymore as they stood around in the shadows. They looked like ghosts of their former selves just as Zechs was. Amazing what a year of defeat did to people. 

“How do I do that? You are aware that OZ are controlling everything in Sanc and that the Earth Sphere government is an extension of that?”

“Of course we know,” Duo had said with a laugh, “we have ours ways. Or at least Heero does…”

They didn’t explain their ways. And Zechs did not blame them for that. After all, they had lost allies along the way and nearly lost one another. Zechs was amazed all five had survived the war and then the subsequent uprisings. Yet they weren’t unscathed as noted by the cane Winner walked with and the burn on the side of Chang’s face. And if the scars were less obvious on the other three, they were not unmarked – they’re skin was not unblemished, they’re bodies no less worn and damaged.

Zechs didn’t want to figure out how they did things, how they survived in a world where they were public enemy’s number one but he was often impressed with the way in which they managed to find him and gain a brief moment of respite from his life of deception.

A small brush of someone's shoulder against his own brought Zechs back from his reveries and to the present. He had barely felt it. He was sure no one else would. Yet he did feel the lightest touch to his pocket, the briefest glance of hand and fingers, and a second later Zechs could feel a small metallic object in the pocket of his suit trousers, it cold even through the thick material.

He glanced to see who had done it, looking at the usual people assembled, and then towards the more likely culprits – the waiting staff, the bar men, the security. Yet he didn’t see a hint of any of them. It was always an impressive feat of misdirection and deception. And he knew whose fingers had placed the device in his pocket. It could only Duo Maxwell. As always.

They all had their special skill sets, Zechs had come to learn of them, but it was Maxwell who he had the most contact with. He had come to admire the younger man – the flair, the casual ability to pickpocket and sneak, the way he managed to smile at Zechs rather than sneer like the other’s did. It was as though they expected him to betray them whereas Duo did not.

Zechs remembered the heated exchange in the dive bar in Brussels, the intelligence that Zechs had provided being deemed as “crap” and it was Duo who had intervened. Who pointed out that Zechs had got what he could get. And it was Duo who had followed him when he’d stormed out to the back alley.

It was Duo he’d pushed up against the wall despite the fact he was attempting to help and Duo who had stared back defiantly.

“Punch me if it’ll make you feel better, Zechsy but I’m the one who’s on your side.”

He had paused, holding the leather of Maxwell’s jacket, and he had wanted to do _something._ He had wanted to fight, to punch, to feel the power of a mobile suit under his fingertips. Yet Zechs could not have that again.

So he’d not punched Duo. Despite the fact he’d smirked. Despite the fact he’d called him Zechsy. Despite the fact the other pilots thought him untrustworthy.

No, he’d pressed his body forward, and leant down, bridging that gap between them and he’d kissed that snide smirk of Duo’s face. Duo had tensed, a fight or flight response kicking in but there was no punch. No knee to the balls. No push away. He had yielded, reached out and lodged his hands hard in Zechs hair, pulling him closer as teeth clashed and mouths opened wide.

Zechs hadn’t intended to find himself in the back of a rental car, jeans around his thighs, Duo Maxwell riding him, eyes closed and breaths ragged as Zechs surrendered to the feeling of tight heat around his cock and the noise of flesh slapping together. It had been thoroughly unromantic, over quickly, with bruises left behind but it had been _something._ Something that made him feel alive. He had bit down on his lip as he came hard enough to bleed, the taste of blood, coppery and metallic, bringing back the heady memory of battle.

“Don’t tell the others,” Duo had said as he had buckled his belt and smoothed his hair back. 

He could only laugh in response to that. He even had to play pretend when fucking around with a former Gundam pilot. It seemed all that his life had become was lies.

Deception was the game he played when he stood in the middle of a charity function. He pretended to listen to the conversations he engaged in, pretended to drink champagne, and pretended to bid on the auction all while finding the appropriate moment to make his leave and go to the bathroom. He felt eyes on him at all times, his skin crawling as he thought someone was always on the cusp of finding him out even though he played the game so well. That feeling never left him - that anxiety making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his heart beat faster.

“Ah Colonel Walder, I’m sorry you’ll have to excuse me, nature calls,” Zechs said, as he gestured towards his empty glass of champagne.

The Colonel gave a hearty chuckle. “Of course.”

The Colonel, just like everyone else, didn’t notice how Zechs always had a glass in his hand but one that was always empty. And he didn’t notice how Zechs scanned the room as he approached the bathroom, his body on alert as he half expected to be accosted, taken away for interrogation.

At times, Zechs wondered if Treize knew his betrayal. He was a strategist, intelligent, and understood human nature better than anyone Zechs had ever met. Then they had history… those hours of their youth spent wrapped around one another in those rose scented rooms that Treize had always seemed to prefer. 

Years passing had told Zechs that he had been a passing phase, a brief play thing, but he had been one of Treize's favourites. Maybe that blinded Treize, made him believe that Zechs would never be the one feeding information to the enemy, sneaking behind his back for scraps of intelligence. That's what Zechs hoped. He was sure he wouldn't be alive right now if Treize knew. 

“Finally got away, huh?”

As he entered the bathroom, that familiar voice echoed around the marble and mirrors, and Zechs looked around, concerned about the locations privacy.

“Don’t worry. No camera’s, no bugs and now there’s a sign on the door saying outta order. You’re good.”

Duo was sat on the marble counter, a suit covering his lean frame, his tie askew and loose. He looked relaxed, casual which was the opposite of the way Zechs felt. Yet Zechs had come to understand that Duo was just as adept as himself at pretending and hiding. At wearing a mask. Perhaps that was what had drawn them together in the first place. 

“I don’t have anything,” Zechs said as he approached the sinks, turning on the water to dab water on his face. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I _know_ Zechsy, we got you a little gift.”

Zechs took more time than necessary to dry his hands before he brought out the small device from his pocket. It was non-descript, a small USB device and he looked at it for a few seconds before offering it back to Duo.

“My computer storage is fine, thank you.”

Duo laughed and hopped down from his vantage point, reaching out to Zechs’ hand and closing his own palm around Zechs’, securing the USB device in the gloved hand. 

“It’s time to fight.”

Zechs raised an eyebrow. “I would prefer a mobile suit.”

“Put this device into Treize’s computer. ‘Ro will do the rest.”

He couldn’t help smiling. “Losing is clearly going to your heads. It’s not that simple. Treize’s personal computer will not take down OZ. A little virus no matter how complex will not hinder them. Are you just trying to get me killed? Or do you no longer want me to be your dirty secret?”

“You ain’t a secret – dirty or whatever,” Duo replied, his tone suggesting his offense as Zechs’ insinuation. “Not after all these damn times.”

Zechs wasn’t able to halt the small expression of shock on his face at Duo’s words. That he wasn’t the “dirty secret”, that the others knew about their dalliances and that Duo seemed to think of their brief interludes as something more than needs met. Zechs didn’t think of what they had as any great romance – it was fucking in cheap hotel rooms, biting down into skin at climax to stop crying out and fingers digging into skin. It was raw, it was needy and it was quick but it was pretty damn good.

“Trust me, okay?” Duo asked softly, his eyes bright in the half light.

“What will it do? I’m not about to destroy half the Earth Sphere, am I?”

“No,” Duo chuckled, “just be ready to get outta Sanc.”

Duo leaned up, brushed his lips gently over Zechs’, and opened his mouth for a slow lingering kiss. Zechs closed his eyes, ignoring the party and all his concerns, and let his body take over instinctively. Their tongues slid against one another's, a hand wrapped around Zechs neck and their hips aligned, groins close. There was nothing Zechs wanted more than to leave Sanc. To find some secluded area of the colonies and lie in bed with Duo Maxwell all day. To fuck and make love and kiss and blow one another and do it all again in different positions. To lie looking at a dirty ceiling covered in sweat and cum, naked and running his fingers over Duo's body, feeling every scar, exhausted and satisfied. 

The fantasy didn't last as Duo stepped back and wiped his mouth with back of his hand.

"See you soon," he said and he saluted with a smile as he left the bathroom.

There was a knot in his stomach as he watched Duo depart, a feeling that the kiss they had just shared was more of a goodbye kiss – gentle and smooth rather than rough and violent. He slapped water on his face to regain composure and looked at himself in the mirror.

Zechs stood up straight, and stared at the face he barely recognised. “Time to be the life of the party.”  

Zechs was the life of the party, charming, confident, and funny as always. Yet every few minutes he felt that device in his pocket, the cold metal in his fingertips even through his gloves and it reminded him that he was a fraud – that he didn’t belong. Yet maybe soon he could get rid of the mask, get rid of the lies and get rid of the fake version of himself. Maybe he would be _free._ After he did what they asked. What  _he_ asked. 

He drank champagne the rest of the evening and by the time he left, Zechs felt the heady rush of feeling tipsy and hopeful. That he could be more again – that he could be back on the battlefield, that he could be useful.

The night was beautiful as he exited the venue, as he looked up at the clear sky and the stars, the flickers of a colony and he wondered where he could go. The colonies could be home. He could be a Prince of the Stars…

“Zechs,” said a voice, a hand on his shoulder from behind and his whole body froze. “I think we need to talk…” A hand groped, a practiced hand that had known Zechs’ body. A hand that had awakened his sexuality and cast him aside when he was no longer corruptible. He didn’t need to turn to see Treize, he could see the white glove in the corner of his eyes, smell the rose scented musk he preferred, he could almost taste the flavour of champagne on his lips. “About this.” Two fingers retrieved the device and a moment later, Treize walked in front of Zechs, holding his prize aloft, a small smile on his lips. “And the former Gundam pilots. I would _really_ like to talk about them.”

“I only have debauched stories of orgies,” Zechs replied, his voice laced with sarcasm.

“My favourite kind of stories… now to my car, let’s not make a scene, society does not need to know about dissent in the ranks, do they?”

With hand on his shoulder, Zechs walked, his eyes darting for an escape. And it was as he “persuaded” into the car, he saw Duo. He saw his eyes, wide and taking it all in, and he saw his grim expression. Zechs watched his lips moved and he could only smile at the empty promise Duo made.

“I’ll find you.”

No one would find Zechs. He knew that as he ducked into the black sleek vehicle, Treize following behind. There was no escape from betraying Treize. 

Yet as New Port City faded away in the mirrors and with Treize’s hand poised on his thigh, Zechs didn’t feel afraid. In fact, he felt relief. No more hiding. No more masks. No more life of the party.

He’d have one more battle. But during this one… he’d be himself.


End file.
